Influence

by robbyrobinavitch

Summary:

Thomas lets out a breath. Charles wonders how he does that, how he manages to live with Henry when he is constantly holding his breath around him.

Notes:

Each chapter after the first will present a different possible ending to events in chapter one a la “choose your own adventure.”

Chapter 1: Beginning

“We can’t, Henry.”

“He can.”

Charles looks unsure. Thomas lies on top Henry, with Henry already inside him. The king has pressed two fingers in alongside his member. Thomas is panting like he’s been wounded.

Charles approaches the bed, and Henry grins like he’s already won. Charles elects to ignore him for the moment.

“Thomas?” Charles ventures. He reaches out a hand, resting it on Thomas’ shoulder. The man gasps. “Shhhh, it’s alright. It’s only me.”

Thomas reaches back at a slightly odd angle to clasp Charles’ hand. Henry presses his fingers deeper inside him, and Thomas moans.

“Is this too much for you? Should we stop?”

Rather than allowing him to answer, Henry takes the opportunity to thrust upwards, pressing himself deeper inside Thomas and earning a moan in the process.

“He is more than ready, Charles.”

The king all but rolls his eyes, but Charles is not deterred. He climbs onto the bed and in between Henry’s legs. Charles rubs his hands up and down Thomas’ back, stopping to massage his shoulders before kneading his way down his back. Thomas lets out long, slow exhales, and Charles can see the tension bleed from his body.

“Does that feel good, Tom?” Charles asks.

“Yes.”

It’s the first word he’s spoken since Henry beckoned him in, when he was slightly late to their tryst. Henry has been unsubtly requesting this act for a while now, and though Thomas has never openly refused, he never seems enthusiastic about it either. Not for the first time, Charles wonders if this is because he is uneasy at the prospect of refusing his king for what he asks. After all, how many times has he himself said yes when he wanted to say no?

Charles leans into kiss the back of Thomas’ neck.

“Do you want more?” he murmurs against his skin.

“Please, Charles.”

“There,” says Henry. “Are you satisfied now?”

“More of what, Thomas?”

Henry grumbles his annoyance, which Charles would expect, but he takes him by surprise when he flips their positions, putting Thomas onto his back and thrusting into him again and again, patience worn out completely, Thomas whimpering all the while.

Thomas holds on tightly as Henry’s movements jostle him. This is less an act of love or lust, and more so an act of Henry using Thomas’ body solely for his own selfish pleasure. Charles would say something if Henry were anyone other than the king, but he is so he doesn’t. He waits at the foot of the bed for Henry to be done. He knows all too well that Henry will have no interest in bringing Thomas to climax once he himself was spent, not when he was so clearly displeased.

It isn’t long before Henry lets out a shout of pleasure, followed by a few smaller ones, hips slowing little by little until he stops altogether. Having got what he wanted, he climbs off Thomas and lies down with his back to him. Charles waits a few moments before he moves up the large bed to lie beside Thomas, facing him.

He reaches out a hand to cup his cheek and uses his thumb to wipe away a traitorous tear.

“You’re alright,” Charles tells him.

Not because he is, but because he has to be. He says this to remind him of the role he must play, the one he has chosen to play. Thomas puts his hand on top of Charles’ and nods. Charles moves in even closer and joins their lips. When Charles’ tongue begs entrance, Thomas opens his mouth and lets their tongues slide together in a way that makes Thomas moan.

That’s it, Charles thinks. Just like that.

Charles lets his hands wander, and they drift down his back again. This time, though, he moves his hands down the front of him as well and finds that Thomas is still hard. He wraps his hand around his prick, and he need not ask for the sweet-scented oil that Henry so loves to use on him.

“You’re so wet,” Charles murmurs.

After a few strokes, Thomas turns from his side to his back, and his hands seem to urge Charles to climb on top of him. His eyes dart to Henry, but the king is still pretending he doesn’t know or care about what is happening between them behind his back.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“I am.”

Only then does he move between Thomas’ legs. He lifts one of Thomas’ legs to put on his shoulder, and his hand reaches down not to line himself up to enter Thomas but to check his tender hole and make sure that Henry has not damaged him. When his fingers prod him, Thomas startles.

“Shhh, let me see.”

His two fingers slip inside him with ease. He is warm and slick, and Charles has to remind himself not to give in to the intense urges that are surging within him. He removes his fingers and is relieved to see no blood on them. Looking down between them, he sees no blood on the sheets either.

Charles looks at him and says, “Worry not. You are well.”

Thomas lets out a breath. Charles wonders how he does that, how he manages to live with Henry when he is constantly holding his breath around him.

“I want you,” Thomas says.

“Then you shall have me,” Charles answers with a smile.

He wastes no time in going to Thomas then, who welcomes him with open arms. He carefully rests his weight on him and reaches down to guide his cock into his waiting entrance. Thomas inhales sharply before melting into the sensations that take over his body. Thomas goes limp under him, and he can’t help but be flattered that Thomas feels comfortable with giving up control to him.

Charles feels his mind go quiet as they revel in the sensations their bodies create.

And then Henry turns over.

He watches them for a short while before musing:

“He is like a woman, isn’t he?”

No, Charles wants to say. He is like a man. He is like no one else.

He makes a noncommittal noise and tries to remain focused on what will make he and Thomas feel good.

“He isn’t tight anymore,” Henry says.

Because you force him open, Charles thinks.

“Charles?” Thomas whimpers.

Thomas has noticed that Henry is watching them, and Charles can tell not just because of the direction of Thomas’ gaze, but because his muscles begin to stiffen. The more rigid he becomes, the harder it is to find and maintain a comfortable rhythm.

Damn it.

“What?” Charles replies. “What’s the matter?”

Thomas doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. Not really.

Henry tsks derisively.

“Look at him,” Henry says. “He is frigid. He hardly ever comes, no matter how much one may work him.”

Thomas whimpers.

Charles bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes his own blood. He has only shared Thomas within the same bed as Henry a few times, but when he and Thomas are alone, that has never been an issue.

“He is fine, Henry.”

Though he knows Henry never knows when to leave well enough alone, he still finds himself hoping that he will. Instead, Henry slides himself closer to the pair before leaning in and giving Thomas a filthy kiss. Thomas moans and clenches his body, and Charles falters, letting out a deep groan. Henry pulls away from the kiss with a smirk.

“I was worried you had gone frigid, too. I’m glad you’ve proven me wrong.”

Henry gets up then, but before Charles can ask him where he’s going, he feels Henry’s hands grip his hips. Henry is hard again; he can feel that, too.

“Henry, what—?”

“It’s either you or him, Charles,” Henry interrupts. He licks the back of his neck before biting down. Charles hisses at the pleasurable pain. “I’m feeling generous tonight and will let you decide. Because if you do not, I will.”

Chapter 2: Ending #1: Henry/Charles

“It’s either you or him, Charles,” Henry interrupts. “I’m feeling generous tonight and will let you decide. Because if you don’t, I will.”

Charles tries to compose himself before answering. Henry could be difficult to reason with on a good day, but when he is in one of his moods—and he is more often in them than out of them these days—he is impossible. He knows he mustn’t stoop to his level.

“Fine, Henry. I will choose.”

Henry chuckles darkly and bites  where his shoulder meets his neck. Charles hisses.

“And what do you choose?” Henry asks.

“Charles?” Thomas ventures.

“Don’t,” he says.

Though he is loath to do so, he pulls away from Thomas.

“Wait,” Thomas says.

His hands try to still him, but Thomas is no match against his strength and determination. Leaving Thomas’ warm embrace and coming face to face with Henry’s cold countenance is jarring, but he has survived worse.

“Well?”

“I choose myself.”

“Charles.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Charles spits.

Thomas’ eyes widen with hurt, but he knows that if he had gently rebuked him, Henry would’ve been enticed rather than repelled.

“And here I was, worrying that he had made you soft,” Henry says.

Charles grins.

“No one has ever accused me of being soft before.”

Henry laughs, and Charles knows he has him in hand now. When Henry leans in for a kiss, Charles allows it. He knows Henry likes fierce, messy kisses with teeth and tongues and pulling hair, so that is what he responds with. Henry loves a fight, and he loves to win, so when the king shoves his shoulders, he lets himself fall back with Henry atop him.

“God, I have missed this,” Henry husks. “Remember when we used to romp like this when we were boys?”

“Yes, but there was usually a girl there, too.”

Henry laughs into his mouth, and Charles lets him. He does not trust Henry when he laughs this much. It usually means there is something sinister simmering in his mind.

“I didn’t think you still had a taste for women, what with you mooning over Cromwell like you do.”

Charles makes a face. He looks over at Thomas, who, knowing he cannot leave until he is given express permission, is now sitting against the headboard with a sheet pulled up over himself, and rolls his eyes.

“Cromwell? He is a good lay, but he is no woman.”

“But you won’t fuck him with me.”

“No.”

“Tell me why,” Henry says.

His smile and his laughter have vanished.

Charles licks his lips and weighs his words carefully.

“I don’t like sharing you. I want you all for myself without him in the way.”

Henry’s smile returns.

“Jealousy is ugly in so many people, but not so with you,” Henry says.

Their mouths join again, and Henry begins to rock his hips, their cocks sliding against each other, earning a moan from Charles in the process. Henry’s hand reaches out for something; Charles watches him feel around the bedclothes.

“I want you. I want you, Charles.”

“You have me. You’ve always had me.”

“Christ, where is the fucking oil?”

“Here, my Lord.”

Thomas thrusts the small bottle into their king’s hand, and Henry snatches it away from him before sitting back on his heels. Henry drizzles a trail of it onto his prick and begins stroking himself.

“You may leave now, Cromwell. Can’t you tell when you aren’t wanted?”

Charles closes his eyes and prays that Thomas will simply bob his head and make haste in dressing and leaving.

“O-of course, my Lord. Your Grace.”

He feels the mattress shift with the weight change; he hears a rustle of clothes. The door creaks as it opens and closes. He opens his eyes when he knows it is only him and Henry in the room. In the bed. God, it has been years…

“Here. Do what must be done, but be quick about it.”

Henry shoves the bottle into his hand.

This isn’t a task to be rushed, Charles thinks as he slicks his fingers with the golden olive oil.

He turns onto his side and presses his fingers into his hole. He thinks of it as just another order that must be followed and makes quick work of it. It doesn’t matter if he likes it or not. It need only meet the minimum standard in order for Henry to accomplish what he wishes to accomplish. Henry is back upon him as soon as he removes his fingers and lies on his back once more. The king presses himself into him with great haste.

“God, this is—this is what I mean by tight. You—”

Henry cuts himself off with a laugh of both joy and disbelief.

“You are so good to me, Charles.”

They’ve barely begun, but already Henry is increasing his pace.

“If this is how you feel now, after all this time, then hang Cromwell.”

Charles wraps his legs around the king’s waist and pulls him in, and Henry groans, long and low into his ear. Charles runs his hands through Henry’s short waves and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Don’t even think of him, Harry. Not when we have each other.”

“I want to come inside you.”

“I want you to. Please, Harry.”

Henry, face tucked into the side of his neck, pants and moans into his ear. It sends shivers up his spine and reminds him of all the times they’d done this in the past, when well-bred ladies were not allowed to be out when it was getting late and neither of them had yet had the chance to get off. Sometimes Charles didn’t even mind all that much when the women retired for the evening.

Henry gives a tell-tale groan.

“I’m gonna come.”

Charles cannot help but give an unseen lopsided smile and tightens his hand in Henry’s hair. He presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“I know,” he murmurs.

“Fuck!”

The force of Henry’s orgasm is intense. Was every climax like this for him? Did he shout and tremble and lose his rhythm with all of his partners, or was he only this way with him, Charles, who has known him since boyhood? Henry’s pants get further apart as he catches his breath, and his hips slow to a stop. With a satisfied grunt, he climbs off Charles and lies beside him.

“Are you alright?” Charles asks.

Henry laughs. It is his real laugh. His old one. Charles smiles.

“I am better than alright.”

“Good.”

“And you?” Henry asks.

“Me?”

“Are you alright?”

“How could I not be after that?”

Henry doesn’t question him further and for that, he is grateful.

“I’m tired now, Charles.”

So he was to be dismissed now, too. Charles doesn’t protest. He is quite ready to leave. The sooner he does, the better he will feel.

“Sleep well, your majesty,” Charles says.

He leans over and presses a kiss to Henry’s lips.

“I will now,” Henry says.

The king closes his eyes, and Charles repeats the same steps as Thomas with equal haste. The door creaks behind him, and he lets out a sigh of relief, glad to be done with the day’s torment. His thoughts stray back to Thomas, but he doesn’t know if Thomas would even want to see him tonight after dismissing him and deriding him so cruelly. Does Thomas know he was saying those things to protect him? He debates going to Thomas’ quarters, wondering if the man had yet found his own pleasure, and, if not, bringing him to it. He hasn't come either.

But just before he reaches the split in the hallway that would lead him to Thomas, he feels the kings seed leak out of his hole. More than anything else, he needs a bath, or, at the very least, a rub down. He does not want to go to Thomas like this, dripping and smelling of the king.

He vows to make it up to Thomas tomorrow, once they were both clean and rested and without Henry there to pull the strings. He would apologize to Thomas and let him know everything he said was said to protect him. He would show him how he really felt about him. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it would be a start. And surely that had to count for something...

Chapter 3: Ending #2: Henry/Thomas

“It’s either you or him, Charles,” Henry interrupts. “I’m feeling generous tonight and will let you decide. Because if you don’t, I will.”

Charles looks into Thomas’ eyes for his guidance. He gives a barely perceptible nod. Charles swallows.

“He is yours, of course. I know his body pleases you.”

Henry pulls him in for a kiss over his shoulder. The position is uncomfortable, but it will seem like no hardship compared to watching Henry take him for a second time when Thomas does not wish it.

Charles shifts himself out of the way, and Henry moves in.

“Turn over,” Henry instructs.

“But—”

“That was an order, Cromwell.”

That was how Henry speaks to them when he is in one of his moods:. He struggles to remember the last time Henry wasn’t in a mood. It was probably before the scandals surrounding Anne. Charles has been hoping courting Jane Seymour would settle him, but despite coming closer to the day of their wedding, Charles has seen no change. At least not where his advisors were concerned. He hopes he has been kinder to Lady Jane.

Charles watches Henry haul back Thomas’ hips into his lap, leaving them skin to skin. Henry groans appreciatively and sets them on a grueling pace. His head is tilted back, and his eyes are closed. He is clearly enjoying himself, but the lack of awareness and care from Henry gives him the impression that Henry does not even care that it is Thomas beneath him. Thomas could be replaced with anyone, and still Henry would continue as he pleased.

If he is looking for novelty, why not take a new mistress? Why not hire an experienced woman? Or man, as the case may be.

This isn’t about sex, Charles realizes. This is about power. This is about Henry showing them that he can make them do anything because he knows they will not refuse. Thomas is comparatively new at court, and so he was easily taken in and molded. But while Charles knows he possesses more knowledge and savvy, he knows he, too, has had his edges filed down in order to please his capricious king.

Thomas cries out.

“That is more like it,” Henry says. “This is how good it can be. Do you see that now?”

He speaks to Thomas so tenderly that Charles himself can half believe it. It isn’t impossible for there to be some truth to his words. Henry probably does think he is showing Thomas the “right” path, which just so happens to be Henry’s own. The right path to God and court and sex.

Thomas cries out again, but this one is different. He’s never heard the man make a sound like that, as though he has been wounded.

“Henry, wait,” Charles says.

“Shut up,” Henry spits. “I am close. I—”

Henry’s fingers dig deeper into Thomas’ flesh.

Thomas lets out a choked sound, but before Charles can intervene again, Henry is roaring out his second orgasm. The king drops limply down onto Thomas’ back, and he sees Thomas squirm in discomfort.

“Henry, please. He is hurt.”

Henry grumbles his annoyance but removes himself from Thomas entirely.

“He is fine,” Henry says, rolling his eyes. “You worry over nothing.”

“Let me see,” he says softly.

He hopes Thomas knows that he is saying this to him more so than to Henry.

“Charles?” Thomas says over a lump in his throat.

Charles moves back up the bed and over to Thomas. He runs his hands up his legs so that Thomas knows it is him from, if nothing else, his characteristic gentle touch. When he reaches Thomas’ buttocks, he gently uses his thumbs to part them. There is a tinge of red mixed in with Henry’s seed, but Charles is not deterred. He presses two fingers into his hole, feeling around for any tears, but Thomas does not yelp, so he judges him to be mostly alright. He removes his fingers, and they, too, are tinged with red. Perhaps it is just the tender skin of his hole that has taken the damage. Charles wipes his fingers off on the corner of the sheet.

“You are alright,” Charles tells him.

“As I said,” Henry tsks. “You worry over nothing.”

“Are you not worried about harming his body?”

“Christ, since when did you grow a conscience?”

Charles purses his lips. He cannot dispute this fact. Henry knows all of the terrible ways he acted in their youth. But they were married with children now. They had lofty goals and incredible responsibilities. They were running a kingdom together. And running the kingdom meant being on the side of those who keep the wheels greased.

“Surely he’s done nothing to earn your ire.”

“Oh, I suppose not,” Henry says.

That, Charles knows, is Henry closing the discussion.

“You can finish what you started now,” Henry adds. He looks down at Charles’ lap. “I see you are still at the ready despite your qualms.”

Henry smirks.

“Nothing I can’t tend to later.”

Henry yawns, bored with the conversation and sated after two climaxes so close together.

“You two may leave me now,” Henry says. “I wish to retire for the evening.”

Thomas doesn’t move. Henry eyes him with impatience.

“I’ll deal with him and get him back to his room,” Charles says.

With a sour face, Henry says, “See that you do.”

It is difficult to contend with a man who is nearly a dead weight in one’s arms, but once they are on the other side of the door, Charles asks, “Do you think you can walk?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Thomas replies.

It is the first thing he’s said in several minutes.

“And you are feeling alright? Do you need a physician?”

“Charles, I just want to go to bed. I have a long day tomorrow.”

Charles does his best not to show the hurt he feels, but he has never been one who easily hides his feelings on his face. Thomas stops walking, so he does, too.

“I am alright,” Thomas insists.

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

Thomas favors him with a small smile.

“Come here,” he says.

Charles leans down for the kiss he knows Thomas wants to give him. It leaves him feeling warm and safe. He can only hope that Thomas feels the same. And if not now, then soon. For he has plans in mind to make sure he that he knows that he is loved.

Chapter 4: Ending #3: Charles/Thomas

“It’s either you or him, Charles,” Henry interrupts. “I’m feeling generous tonight and will let you decide. Because if you don’t, I will.”

“I—”

Charles freezes, unsure of what to say. What was Henry getting at? Was he being serious? Was there a “right” answer that he was supposed to give?

Henry tsks and rolls his eyes.

“Must I do everything myself? What good are my advisors if all they do is lie there and stare vacantly at nothing?”

“Your majesty, if I may—”

“You may not, Master Cromwell.”

Charles groans internally. Of all the bloody times to butt in. Charles watches Henry glare at Thomas, who has thankfully shut his mouth and reverently bowed his head. Henry’s gaze snaps to him.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Henry says. “I would like to watch the two of you.”

Wasn’t that what they had been doing before Henry interrupted them? What was the point of stopping them just to argue and demand that they keep doing what they were doing?

Charles moves in Thomas’ direction. His hand hovers over his shoulder when Henry says, “Stop.”

“What is it now, Harry?” Charles asks.

He is quickly tiring of the king’s snap decisions.

“I don’t think I much like your tone, Charles.”

Charles takes a deep breath and attempts to appeal to his friend man-to-man.

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

Henry sucks his teeth, won’t look him in the eyes. Charles tilts his head, trying to coax him back into the conversation as he has done countless times prior.

“Because I do. I always have. And you know that Cromwell does, too. We want whatever it is that will make you happy.”

Not for the first time, he cannot help but wonder how many times Catherine and Anne had made similar appeals to the king’s deaf ears.

“But not everything,” Henry retorts.

It hits him, then, that he will never let this matter go. It will always stand out in his mind as the thing-he-wants-and-cannot-have. Henry loves games and challenges and favors, and he has put it into his head that tupping Thomas—together—is a prize to be won.

“Why him, Harry? What is so special about him?”

“He brings me women,” he says. “Women who wish to be wives. Women who wish to be conquered by their king. I see the way he looks at them, coveting them. Isn’t that right, Master Cromwell? He may not say it, but you and I can see it plain on his face.”

A high blush colors his cheeks pink, and Henry grins.

“By all means,” Charles says, “take him if you wish. He is compliant enough.”

Thomas’ eyes widen at his callous tone and harsh accusations, but if he doesn’t see that he is trying to diffuse this situation, then he has no business advising Henry, of all people, on anything.

“And you?” Henry asks. “Are you compliant?”

“Fucking fuck, Harry,” Charles spits.

Before he can think twice, he launches himself at the king, embracing him harshly and giving him a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. He goes so far as to bite down on his lip and take a hank of his hair in his hand in order to bare his throat to his onslaught. He bites the column of the king’s throat, earning him enthusiastic moans of pleasure.

“My only wish is to serve you. You are my king.” He pulls his hair harder, bending his neck at an even sharper angle. “Everything I do is for you.”

Charles lets go of him, and Henry sags limply into the mattress. Henry laughs.

“What was the name of that stable boy?” Henry asks.

He knows Henry is remembering that long-ago tryst in the hayloft above the stables because that is where his memories have brought him, too. Teddy was sweet and all too willing to let himself be used by his lord and his king. They made the poor thing come for them three times.

“Teddy,” Charles says. “His name was Teddy.”

Henry gives a hum of satisfaction.

“We didn’t think he’d fit us both, but he did. Eventually,” Henry says.

“He was a good boy.”

Henry dismissively waves his hand. He’s already moved on.

“Cromwell is oiled,” Henry says. “And I myself have slicked the way. He will be easy for you.”

Charles sighs. He can think of no alternatives that will satisfy Henry, and he knows his patience is wearing thin.

Charles moves back over to Thomas and lies down behind him, pulling Thomas in close. He wraps his arms around him and kisses the back of his neck.

“I’ll take care you,” Charles promises.

Thomas nods, and he takes that as a sign of acceptance if not permission.

He takes his cock in his hand and thrusts between his cheeks a few times, warming Thomas up to the idea of him, and it earns him a sweet whimper.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

He presses himself into Thomas’ hole, and he cannot help the moan that he makes in the process. Thomas takes the hand that is protectively wrapped around the length of his torso and brings it down from his neck to his own hard prick. Charles cannot help but smile.

 “We need to get you a woman,” he says. “You are large enough to please any of them.”

Thomas thrusts his hips forward into Charles’ hand, and Charles’ hips follow. It takes them a moment to get it just right, given the high pressure of their circumstance, but Henry has finally shut up and is quietly watching them, so maybe they’ll finally be allowed to finish.

“Are you close, Tom?” Charles asks.

He hopes his answer is yes. He can hardly stand it with how good Thomas feels. He has no idea why Henry made such disparaging comments about him that were clearly not true. He tries not to think about what Henry is like with him when he is not there. He hopes he is kinder, but he isn’t going to hold his breath.

“Charles, please. Please.”

“That’s it.” The sound of their thighs meeting fills the room. Faster and faster. “Let it go. Let it go, Tom. For me. Do it for me.”

Thomas is good, and he listens. He makes a choked sound before letting out a series of deep groans. Thomas makes a mess of himself and his hand and the bedclothes, and watching him and feeling him experience such ecstasy is enough to bring him over, too. With his teeth sunk into the flesh of Thomas’ shoulder, he finds his end, emptying himself deeply inside his yielding body.

There is a third shout, then. Loud. The king was always loud when he finished. Charles wonders—not for the first time—if it is how he really feels or if it is how he assumes a king should announce his climax.

Charles feels Henry’s come land on his neck first. Then on his shoulder and back. A rope lands on Cromwell’s torso. Charles watches it trail down Thomas’ glistening skin. The message is clear.

“Clean yourselves up,” Henry says with a deadly calm. “And get out of my sight.”

He wonders if Thomas heard him or if he is too fucked out to understand Henry’s order. He gives Thomas a gentle squeeze.

I’m here, he thinks. I’m here.

“Come along, Tom,” Charles says. “It’s time we go.”

Chapter 5: Ending #4: Henry/Thomas/Charles

“It’s either you or him, Charles,” Henry interrupts. “I’m feeling generous tonight and will let you decide. Because if you don’t, I will.”

The scales have fallen from his eyes when it comes to the kind of man Henry Tudor is: rash, cruel, and unpredictable. And now he is smirking at him, waiting for him to go along with him. Henry is waiting for him, Charles, to drop his eyes, to look the other way, to give him what he wants. Charles weighs his options carefully. Circumstances usually worsened for everyone involved when Henry didn’t get exactly what he wanted when he wanted it.

“Alright,” Charles concedes.

“What?” Thomas interjects.

Charles winces. He would explain it all to him later. Surely then he would understand.

Henry lets out a boisterous laugh and claps Charles heartily on the shoulder.

Thomas raises himself onto his elbows, then, to look imploringly at Charles to make sure he heard him correctly. Charles finds he cannot meet his eye. Henry sees his turned face as an offering, and soon he joins their lips. It is a messy kiss, teeth and tongue meeting with equal fervor.

“I knew you couldn’t resist,” Henry says. “You want this as much as I do.”

But never like this, Charles thinks.

“What was that boy’s name?” Henry asks. “That mincing stableboy we found at Whitehall?”

Charles swallows over the lump that has formed in his throat. How could they have done those things to him and not remember the boy’s name?

“Teddy,” Charles says. “His name was Teddy.”

“Charles,” Thomas ventures. “What—?”

“Oh, worry not. We haven’t forgotten about you, Cromwell,” Henry interrupts.

Henry leers at him.

“Teddy was a sweet boy,” Charles adds. It suddenly feels quite important to say that. To speak his name and give him praise is the least he can do. “He always smelled of sweet grass.”

Henry waves his hand; he has already moved on.

“We shall have you now, Cromwell. Both of us. You understand that, don’t you?”

Thomas’ eyes dart to meet his, and Henry sneers.

“Brandon may be your keeper, but he is not your sovereign. You answer to me. Is that clear?”

Charles watches Thomas process and accept the events as they have unfolded. There is no backing out of this. His fate is sealed.

“Yes, your Majesty. Of course.”

“Good. Then shall proceed. You shall resume your position atop me, and Charles will follow from behind. You are still well-oiled?”

Henry looks at him with something akin to genuine concern, but the answer he is supposed to give is obvious.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Thomas’ voice is so clear, so calm. He must be a very good actor, for Henry seems pleased with his response. Though for all he knew, Henry could be acting, too. The difference is that Thomas is doing it to save his skin. Henry is doing it because he enjoys hiding in plain sight, like a viper. What does that make him?

Henry settles onto his back, and Thomas goes to him with only a trace of hesitation. Charles follows, likewise.

Henry wastes little time in reentering Thomas’ pliant body. The ill-used Secretary lets out a pitiful moan, prompting Henry to quietly shush him like he would with a beloved hound.

“You will be good for us, won’t you?”

Before Thomas can answer, Henry pulls him in for a kiss. There is something like love in the gesture, and it makes his heart hurt. He wonders if Henry knows the difference between the love a subject may feel for his king and the love that can be shared between bedfellows. Thomas wouldn’t have ended up here if he felt nothing for the king, but the only reason Henry has allowed him to get this close is for Thomas to amuse him as he sees fit.

“He is ready, Charles,” Henry says when he pulls away from their kiss. “His body is as soft and warm as calfskin.”

Charles nods and moves in close. He takes himself in hand and runs his member against his crack, down to where he and Henry were joined, letting him know that he is here before moving in. He puts his hand on Thomas’ lower back.

“Breathe.”

Thomas takes a long, shaky breath, and as  he lets it out, he presses his way inside.

 

---

 

Teddy, he later learned, was younger than them by a few years, and shorter, too, by several inches. His father and his father’s father and so on had worked in Tudor stables for longer than the alliance between York and Lancaster was formed. It was Teddy’s job to maintain the stables, doing everything from mucking the stalls to polishing the harnesses to shoeing the horses. He was good at it, too, for why else would he have continued the family profession?

Charles wouldn’t have noticed the lad if not for Henry.

“Why do you walk like that?” Henry once asked.

Charles turned, curious to see who he was talking to. He steps out of the stall and sees Henry menacing a thin, but muscled, boy with sandy blond hair. Judging by his apron and belt of tools, he was clearly a stableboy.

“Sir?”

Henry proceeded to do an over-exaggerated imitation, much to the boy’s dismay.

“I—I’m sorry if I’ve bothered you, your Majesty.”

Sensing trouble brewing, Charles butts in.

“I am keen to get on our way so we may enjoy tonight’s festivities.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Charles. We could have some festivities here, too.”

Henry walked over to the stableboy.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Teddy, Sir. I am Teddy W—”

Henry held up a hand, and Teddy was wise enough to stop talking.

“Have you go yourself a lady love, Teddy?”

Teddy’s cheeks, already flushed, burn red. Henry, oft relentless when his desire to humiliate went unchecked, prompted Charles to attempt to reach him one more time.

“Henry, must we—”

“We will go when I am good and ready, Charles,” Henry barked, though his eyes never left Teddy’s. “I want to hear about Teddy’s lover. Or lovers. Have you got more than one? Surely you must. You are handsome enough. Tell me about her. Or him.”

Christ.

“There is no one worth having as a lover, your Majesty,” Teddy husks. “Saving yourself of course.”

The stableboy was a wise young man to have come up with just the right phrase to stroke the king’s ego and protect his own neck in the process.

Then again, Charles remembers thinking, there are fates worse than death.

 

---

 

He could not protect or save Teddy, but he can protect and save Thomas, if only through gentle, reassuring touches; a kind, murmured word; and a well-placed grip on his aching member. It is less than what Thomas needs and deserves, but it is better than nothing.

“Oh, please,” Thomas sobs. “Let me come. Please. Please let me.”

Thomas shakes from way they have ravaged his poor body. From his perspective, it feels as though the three of them are vibrating out of their skin in unison. Henry is panting like an overworked draft horse, and he can hardly keep his hips moving without hissing at the intense friction provided by Thomas’ accommodating channel and Henry’s ruddy member.

Charles hears what sounds like a prayer falling from Thomas’ lips, but he cannot say for certain what his prayers concern. His thoughts keep getting interrupted by a high-pitched whine in his ears, something that has always happened when under undue stress.

“Harry, take mercy on him. He’s been so good for you.”

Henry throws his head back in his pillow with a grunt. Charles knows now is the time to press him.

“I can feel you against me, but I can feel him most of all. His walls press against us so exquisitely that I can hardly contain myself.”

Henry swallows hard.

“Christ, why fight it, Harry? Make him wet with your seed. Fill him with your essence. He is so fresh and fertile, is he not?”

Charles feels as if he will go mad if something doesn’t give. He gives into his impulse to bite Thomas’ shoulder, and Thomas lets out a strangled gasp at the pain, tightening his whole body against it. It is more than the king can take, and Henry roars out his climax as he is so often wont to do.

“My dear Tom. You must forgive me—Please. I—”

His words become little more than a garbled mess as his own orgasm overtakes him. He thinks of Teddy, how Teddy had leaned heavily against him in the hayloft, held his hand, sought his lips as Henry ravaged him from behind. Then as now, he comes inside the pliant body of the man they are sharing. Then as now, he takes the man between them in hand and gives him the salvation he craves.

“Shhh, hush, let me, let me…”

“Charles…”

He wishes he could see Thomas’ face. Wishes he could make love to Thomas in his own bed on his own terms. Wishes he could let Thomas take him for a change. Christ, the man had a beautiful cock; it is high time he were allowed to use it.

“Let go. Please, Tom. Please.”

Charles is relieved when Thomas finally cries out. His seed spills out over his fist, and Charles gets it in his head that one day, he will take Thomas into his mouth so as not to waste the precious fluid that flows from his tender tip.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” Charles murmurs.

His own body feels like liquid, so he can only imagine how Thomas must feel. Charles eases himself out of Thomas’ well-used body and falls into a heap onto his side. Neither Thomas nor Henry move, and Charles cannot help but look upon Henry’s face as he stares, as though shocked, up at the ceiling. Tears leak from Thomas’ closed eyes.

“Harry, we need to leave him be now.”

Thomas whimpers his agreement.

Henry wraps his arms around Thomas’ spent body and places a kiss on his tear-stained face. Thomas opens his eyes.

“You were perfect,” Henry says. “You are so good to us. Your efforts will be rewarded handsomely.”

Thomas returns Henry’s kiss with one on the lips, and Charles thinks that if he had not just wrung himself dry, the sight might’ve aroused something deep from within him.

“Here,” Henry says. “Let us separate now…”

With surprising tenderness, Henry tips them onto their sides, allowing him to easily slip from Thomas’ sweet, tight heat. It takes little time for Thomas to turn the other way in order to press himself into Charles’ arms and tuck his face into his neck. Henry looks at them, blinks.

Charles feels his stomach flip.

“We will sleep in my bed tonight,” Henry says after a pregnant pause. “It’s been a long evening.”

Thankfully, Thomas neither notices nor cares about the exchange happening over his head and behind his back, and Charles elects not to let himself worry about such things tonight. Tonight has been about Thomas for the wrong reasons, but, couched in his arms, he can at least begin to make it right.